Temptation
by the.goal.is.greatness
Summary: "A soldier has taken off his armor and waited here for you..." [Sesshomaru x Kagome] [AU-ish]


**Title:** Temptation  
**Genre:** Romance / Drama  
**Rating:** M  
**Pairing:** Sesshomaru x Kagome  
**Spoilers:** N/A  
**Summary:** "A soldier has taken off his armor and waited here for you…"  
**Word Count:** 2,068  
**Warnings:** AU-ish

**Disclaimer:** _Inuyasha_ belongs to Rumiko Takahashi. The summary is a quote from _Fushigi Yuugi: The Mysterious Play_.

**A/N:** This is my favorite pairing in this whole damn series.

* * *

The tent is cool when he enters, a welcoming respite from the sweltering heat outside. He pauses a moment, taking a deep breath, letting the worry of the past series of endless hours fade away in the view of the calmness and serenity in the tent. The floor and wall are lined with rugs, blanketing the space in quiet. There is incense burning. He could almost forget that, several miles away, a war was waging. Humans and demons and priestesses, all united against a single great foe.

He shrugged out of his heavy shoulder armor and let it thud to the ground. With the weight immediately lifted from him, he rotated his shoulder, trying to ease the ache that had formed there days ago and had yet to abate.

"Please, make yourself at home."

He turns at the voice, just one thread shy of insubordination, and takes in the miko standing at the entrance to the tent. She is slender and toned, her hair a vibrant fall of midnight blue-black, her eyes a startling blue, like the sky. But they are raged with tiredness, proof of hours – days – spent healing the vast and endless number of injured that are brought into camp.

"Lady Kagome," he inclines his head at her as he turns. "A soldier has taken off his armor and waited here for you, and that is how you great him?"

For a moment, her shoulders straighten back, her chin tilts up, but then she visibly deflates. "Apologies, my Lord." Her eyes shutter closed, like a window. "What can I do for you?"

"My father bid me to see if there was something you could do for my shoulder."

Her eyes trail to the limb he is favoring. "You are injured?"

He shrugs, then winces at the motion. "Overused."

There is a long beat of silence, her eyes are turned inward and far away, some miko introspective nonsense, he imagines, before she straightens and gestures to the futon. "Alright, people remove your upper garments and lie down."

He blinks. "Excuse me?" When she stares at him, eyebrow arched in reproach, he continues. "I was led to believe that you excelled at healing youkai with your miko powers. That is why I sought you out over other healers."

"Well then you should have come see me two days ago before my powers were depleted to next to nothing."

There is nothing he can say to that because he has heard all the rumors. That Kagome Higurashi, daughter of a simple human medic, has miko powers that far exceed the norm. That, not only can she heal humans, but demons with her power, as well. Which mean she is sought out by everyone. "Forgive my mistake, miko." He inclines his head again and moves to pick up his discarded armor. "I am sure I will manage – "

"Lay down on the damn bed, my Lord."

His mouth snaps shut at her abrupt statement, his hackles rising at the tone. But then he weighs what his father will say to him if he returns still unable to hold his sword for an entire day and he says nothing. He attempts to follow her original demand and remove his haori, but the motion of his shoulder rotating in the socket is mind-numbingly painful.

There are sudden hands pushing his away and removing his clothing for him. It is all so swift and clinical that he doesn't even have the time to make an objection before he is gone, gesturing again to the futon and waiting patiently for him to situate himself.

"I am aware that you thought I could simply use a small amount of my gifts to heal you, but I assure you, a non-life threatening injury such as this can be healed in a more mundane way." He voice is soothing, calm and even. "The ache resonating in your shoulder can be eased as simply as massaging away the tightening of your overworked muscles."

He cannot see her, but he can smell lavender and lemon and honey. For a moment, he is reposed and at ease. But then there are soft hands pressing against his shoulder and he stiffens like a plank at the unexpected touch.

"Lord Sesshomaru, please relax."

Relax? How can he relax? For all that they are on the same side in this fight, Sesshomaru has as few interactions with humans as he can manage. Only his step-mother and half-brother are more constant forces in his life. There is something disconcerting about having a miko's hands pressing and kneading into his skin, so close to his spine, with his body so exposed. He knows that, were she at full strength, those hands could purify him into nothing. But…

But now that are soft, smoothed by some sort of lotion that is warming his skin as she works. They are firm and solid, fingertips exploring his skin lightly enough to make goosebumps break out across his sides. He twitches when one propping digit finds a knot, but with a deft twist of the heel of her palm, there is a burn of pain and then…

… relief. He groans into the pillow beneath him, body going soft and pliant when the knot unties under her steady healer's hands. Again and again she finds tight clusters of pain along the muscles of his shoulders and again and again she deftly removes them, leaving him boneless and groaning, his mind a haze of pleasure, his muscling loosening until they are as limp as noodles. Her questing fingers dance up his spine to work at his shoulder. His breath hisses out of him at the sensation, but suddenly she is pulling his arm out and his is boneless to stop is. She pulls and twists and rubs maddening circles along his arm, from shoulder to wrist. His body starts to tingle with each brush of her hand. When she teases her fingertips across his palm he feels the touch everywhere. When she massages her way back up his arm and across his shoulders to begin the process on the other arm he could almost purr in pleasure.

Then she dances those infuriating fingers up to the wide expanse of his shoulder again and, for a moment, the touch vanishes completely. There are one, two seconds, where he feels bereft, but then he feels her settling over her, her legs astride the small of his back. He makes a momentary motion to rise, but his limbs are sluggish and relaxed. He barely starts to lift himself when her hands settle on either side of his neck – his eyes widen – and press down – and something suddenly cracks and relieves him of a pressure in his head that he wasn't even aware of.

The groan that pulls from his is ragged and hoarse, and he suddenly drops back to the mattress with a sigh. He hears what sounds suspiciously like a giggle from somewhere above him, but he cannot be bothered to care. She continues her assault, her thumbs massaging heaven into the column of his neck, smoothing her palms down to his shoulders in long sweeps, then starting again. When her fingers inch into his hair, she lightly brushes his scalp with her nails and the sensation shoots from the top of his head to throb, hot and heavy, in his hakama. The touch startles a low, rumbling purr from his chest. Her fingers continue to explore, carding through his hair in a manner that turns him into a puddle of goo beneath nothing more than two human hands. They brush against the tips of his ears and the sound he makes is somewhere between a strangled sigh and a moan.

She pauses for a moment, but then resumes her assault on his auditory appendages. It is such a slow and methodical touch that he doesn't even release he's rocking against the mattress, trying to ease the slow, slow, slow build of pressure in him until the touch is gone.

He's momentarily confused, mind and eyes clouded with the slow build of lust that she's woven over him as surely as magic. The touch startles him when her hands prod against his side in an insistent motion that slowly forces him to roll onto his back. He sinks into the futon with a sigh, the first time in weeks he's been able to lay pain-free on his back. His eyes are still closed, but the movement of those soft hands continues. Massaging his shoulders and collarbones, making their way slowly, slowly down the panes and contours of his stomach. His rumbling purr resumes on a groan at the slow downward assault.

He's lost in a haze of lust, that's fogging his mind, making him seem as if he's trapped in a dream, every motion languid and slow – from the way he's arching his hips off the bed to the restless to and fro of his head from side to side to the way he's gripping the sheets. When the kneading of his muscles pauses at his waistline his breath all but stops. Then a palm kneads against the length straining against the fabric, he arches off the bed with a guttural cry.

There is a flash of motions that his sluggish, incense clouded mind cannot follow, but then there is a warmth _sowarmsotight_ wrapped around him and his eyes snap open in astonishment.

The miko is seated astride him, miles and miles of pale, milky flesh, pert breasts, and a tumbling black hair pouring over her shoulders like spilled ink. Her eyes are luminescent as they watch him. Her lips are tilted in a cheeky smile and he wants to wipe it from face, wants to watch her fall apart, but he can't force his limbs to move, they are lethargic and heavy, too relaxed from the – minutes, hours? – of massage to do more than twitch his muscles. When the miko gives a slow, sensual roll of her hips, his eyes roll along with the motion.

He wants to thrust up into that tight heat, wants to roll them over so he can fuck her into the floor. He wants her to move faster, to take his length inside her so deep she can taste him, wants her to ride him hard and fast. But all she does is roll her hips, forward and backwards, like the rocking of a ship at sea. Slowly, slowly, slowly. It's driving him mad. It's building up inside him, higher and higher, tighter and tighter, a corkscrew winding and winding and winding with each slow motion, with each slow roll. He clenches his hands in the sheets, claws unsheathed and tearing into the mattress as he can do nothing but growl in frustration as she leisurely slow fucks him insane.

Just when he is wound so tight it feels like a single touch would make him shatter, the miko clenches her walls like a vice and Sesshomaru arches off the bed with a howl. His eyes are wide and unseeing as he spills himself, every drop, until he's empty with it. He collapses back with harsh exhale and opens his eyes –

* * *

\- with a start Sesshomaru comes awake.

For a long moment he blinks, disoriented, mind still full of images of creamy flesh viewed between parted priestess robes, the smell of incense smoke and lavender, the feel of wet heat enveloping him. When he shifts, he feels a disconcerting stickiness underneath him, so he lifts himself up on his arm, mouth in a tight line as he realizes his sleep fucked his futon with the image of his brother's tagalong miko in his head.

As he cleanses himself and changes he lets his thoughts stray back to his dream, golden eyes reliving each moment and branding it to memory. It might be a while before he came across the miko again, and this Sesshomaru couldn't imagine she would take to him as… readily… as the version of her in his mind.

But he could plan.


End file.
